Deleted Scenes: The Night of the Flaming Ghost
by The Wild Wild Whovian
Summary: From the warmth in Barbara Bosley's voice when she says "Mr Gordon" in the tag of TNOT Flaming Ghost, it sounds to me like the two of them had some scenes together that didn't make the final cut. What might those scenes have been?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

_Also, my most recent viewing of the episode brought up a few questions in my mind, such as why did Artie go looking for Jim instead of for the kerosene, where did Miss Bosley's dress she couldn't button come from anyway, and why on earth did Artie suddenly advocate letting Carma off the hook? I'll try to answer those questions and more in the scenes below - but not the question of why does Carma stare so much without blinking. I'll answer that one right here: it's something she shares in common with the rattlers._

_No offense intended to any rattlers._

**Deleted Scenes: The Night of the Flaming Ghost**

They rescued me, Mr West and Mr Gordon did, after I had managed to rescue myself to a certain extent. That horrible man, John Brown of Harper's Ferry, had kidnapped me because he wanted to put my skills as a dressmaker to use to fashion him some fireproof suits, but then he had insisted that I wear one of the suits as its effectiveness was tested in a trial by fire. And I took advantage. Once I was in the fire and as the flames formed a barrier between his men and me, I simply took off running. I got away too.

But not clean away, I'm afraid. Among the renegades Mr Brown had accumulated in his wilderness stronghold were several Indians, and one of them shot an arrow at me. Hit me too. I staggered on regardless, over a rise and out of their sight. And as I did, I heard someone cry out, "After her!"

"No need," came Mr Brown's voice. "The vultures will see to her."

Charming thought. I suppose Mr Brown expected me to fall down dead at any moment, mortally wounded by that arrow. In fact, instead of hitting me in a vital spot, it had lodged in my upper arm. Painful still, yes, but survivable. All I needed to do was to find help. I ran on, down that slope and up the next.

For hours as the night wore away, that's what I did. I went down one slope and up the next, hoping each time as I reached the top of the next rise to look over it and see signs of civilization.

And for hours, I was disappointed. Only one scene after another of wilderness met my view. As dawn came on, I was beginning to despair. I could no longer move very fast - I was coming to the conclusion that this wound I had thought was survivable was perhaps more deadly than I'd believed, if only from the loss of blood. I had no water with me and had found none to drink so far on my trek. And with the dawn of day the sun would no doubt soon bake me alive in this fireproof suit. My one consolation was that perhaps in addition to being fireproof, it might also prove to be vulture-proof.

Small consolation, I know.

The sun was fully above the horizon when I struggled to the top of yet another rise and looked out, hope rising up in me once more even as I feared to dare hope. And I was startled to see two men with horses in the draw ahead of me! I was so surprised that at first I assumed I was merely imagining them. It was only when they looked up at me and exclaimed to each other that I knew they were real. In gladness I started to wave to them.

I never raised my arms. All of what I had just come through conspired together to strike me with a great wave of dizziness. One moment I was at the top of the rise.

And my next conscious moment, I was down at the bottom, sore from head to toe. The men ran to my aid, helping me to sit up, breaking off the arrow that was still lodged in my arm. To my amazement, I knew both men. One was James West, whom I'd met in the stagecoach shortly before my kidnapping, and the other, whose name I would soon learn was Artemus Gordon, had been the shotgun rider on the coach.

They questioned me; I answered as best I could, telling them about John Brown and his fort of Harper's Ferry. And then they helped me up onto the black horse behind Mr West and took me the twenty miles or more back to town.

…

The doctor in town patched me up. Once he was done tsking and scolding at me and trussing up my arm in a utilitarian but ugly black sling, Mr West and Mr Gordon showed up with a hired wagon in which I could ride in some semblance of comfort as they brought me back to the beautiful varnish car of their private train. Once we were there, the men worked quickly to convert half the varnish car into a boudoir for me, setting up a screen behind which I could have a certain measure of privacy. They also brought up from the wagon a surprise for me: my own trunk from the coach! This they set before the sofa within my boudoir, then headed over to the other side of the car to give me some time to myself. As Mr Gordon searched through his books for more information on John Brown, I shucked off the fireproof suit I'd come already to loathe and began slipping into my lovely lacy underthings.

But as I got into the dress itself, I found myself to be in quite a predicament. With my injured arm, I was completely unable to do up the back of the dress. Apologetically, I slipped out from behind the screen to ask for help.

Mr West was seated on the other sofa across the room from me, but Mr Gordon was right there at my side. I saw the look in his eyes just before he acquiesced. Until that moment, my dealings with the pair of them had been mostly with Mr West; I'd barely paid Mr Gordon much attention at all. But the way he looked at me just then, resembling a little lost puppy for a split second - well, what can I say but I found him suddenly quite endearing! As I turned my back to Mr Gordon and directed my attention to answering Mr West's further questions about John Brown and Harper's Ferry, I could feel Mr Gordon's hands working their way up my spine, one button at a time.

It was, I decided, a very nice feeling indeed.

Eventually he reached the top and I turned to thank him. But then he took up that atrocious black sling to bind up my arm again.

Well, his smile as he wrapped the sling around me was just so charming, I couldn't help but smile back. What lovely eyes he had! And the lopsidedness of his smile tugged at my heart. Oh, and there was that little lock of hair curling down in the center of his forehead. Not to mention the, well, the sheer _nearness _of him. If I didn't find something sharp to say quickly, I might just find myself melting right into his arms, and I couldn't have _that!_

Ah - the sling. How ugly it was. I latched onto that and told him to his face how hideous it was and that I would have to come up with some way to improve upon it if I had to hang lace on it!

I know the two of them were smirking back and forth over my distaste for the plain black sling. But I swept away from them and behind my screen again where I could let a sigh escape me and fan myself as well. Well, yes, it _was _the desert, but my! it had gotten warm in there!

…

As the two men continued to discuss their case and the respective assignments they would tackle next, I looked through my trunk to find something better from which to make my new sling. Shortly Mr West admonished Mr Gordon with, "Try not to have too much fun," then strode past me with a nod as he grabbed his hat, jacket, and gun belt on his way out the rear door of the varnish car. Mr Gordon, after calling out a companionable, "I'll try not to!" to his departing partner, set about mumbling to himself about kerosene. I could hear a loud rustling of papers, then quiet. A glance from behind the screen showed me he was now perched on the sofa over there by himself studying some maps with a pad of paper and pencil by his side with which to make notes.

I had by this time found a scarf embroidered with flowers. Folding it into a triangle, I measured out a length of lace to stitch around the edges, then brought out some thread, scissors, and a needle. "Where do you plan to look for the kerosene?" I called out.

"Well, that's just it," he replied. "Where we found _you _we smelled kerosene. I need a reason to go back there."

"A reason? Oops. Isn't the fact that you - ow - you smelled kerosene there reason - oh! - reason enough to go back?"

"Reason enough for me, yes. But the fort you escaped from is somewhere within walking distance of that spot, so I need a reason to be there that John Brown and company won't question. But what's wrong? Why are you oh-ing and ow-ing?"

A moment later he appeared in the opening beside my screen and looked down on me where I sat with my scarf and my lace, struggling in vain to thread a needle with my right arm in that sling.

He sighed and set his fists on his hips. "My dear Miss Bosley," he said, "would you like me to give you a hand with that?"

"You know how to do this?" I asked, holding up the needle and length of thread. "And it's Barbara."

"I have a little more than the usual bachelor's experience with sewing, yes." He took both items from me, folded the end of the thread around the needle, pulled the needle out, then deftly slipped the folded end through the needle's eye. As he evened up the ends of the thread and tied the knot to keep them together, he added, "And it's Artemus."

…

In the end, he stitched the lace to the scarf for me, since I wasn't in any better shape to sew a straight line at the moment than I'd been at threading that needle. "You sew very well, Mr… that is, Artemus."

He chuckled. "For a man?" He was sitting at my side on the sofa in my cozy little boudoir now. He shot a glance at me, and I felt the temperature of the room rise again.

"No, for anyone," I replied. It was the truth. If he'd been a woman, I'd have made him an offer on the spot to work for me in my boutique.

"Ah, well. I keep in practice."

That surprised me. "You make your own clothes?"

"My everyday clothing, no. My disguises, though, that's another thing."

"Disguises!"

"Mm-hmm! That's what I was thinking about when I said I needed a reason. I want to come up with some disguise, some character, who could be wandering out in the wilderness without raising our Mr Brown's suspicions too high."

He continued on sewing as I frankly gaped at him. "But…" I said at last, "but who would go out there in the middle of nowhere? What possible reason could someone have to be out there where supposedly nothing exists, no town, no people? You'd just about have to know Harper's Ferry is there to have any reason to go near it!"

"I know. That's what I'm considering. I could perhaps be yet another outlaw looking to join up."

"Would that work?"

"I don't know." His eyebrows drew together a bit, and I found that even a frown on his face looked adorable. "I rather strongly suspect the outlaws who are already there were invited to come, and for someone they've never heard of to show up without having been summoned might not be such a good idea." He took a few more stitches, then said, "Now a prospector might work… Well, if there's evidence of gold or silver strikes in these parts. I'd need to look into that. Hmm… or a missionary. A wandering parson," and his voice changed abruptly, becoming the voice of every mild-mannered minister I'd ever heard in my life, "passing through the wilderness of this earthly existence, looking to impart the Good News of the Gospel to the Godless heathen, regardless of station or race."

All the cuddly feelings I'd been entertaining in my heart toward the charming Artemus Gordon were completely derailed by his sharp veer toward the saintly. I blushed, and to hide the crimson spreading over my face, I turned away and faked a coughing fit.

Instantly Artemus dropped the sewing and leapt to his feet. Hurrying beyond my screen, he called to me, "Will some sherry help? Or would water be better?"

"Sh-sherry," I replied, hoping he would accept the redness of my cheeks as the result of the coughing spell. "Unless you have something stronger?"

He reappeared, bearing a carafe and two glasses. "Stronger, my dear? So early in the day?" He tsked at me playfully.

I tipped my head at him as he reseated himself at my side and began to pour our drinks. Contriving to look the least touch pathetic, I said, "Well, my arm does still hurt, you know. And whiskey is a time-honored painkiller."

He shook his head at me. "Sherry for now, whiskey later, dear Barbara." He passed me my glass, then raised his in salute. And as we each took a sip, his eyes lit up. "Whiskey!"

"I'm sorry?"

"Whiskey! Of course, that's the ticket! They won't be likely to suspect… Oh, and I could add a little something to the whiskey to put them all to sleep! It's ingenious! Barbara my sweet, you're brilliant!" And to my everlasting amazement, he caught me into his arms and bussed me!

Again I gaped at him.

"Oh, I…" He put on an air of apology, then very gently placed a contrite kiss on my cheek. "Please forgive me. It's just that you gave me a marvelous idea for my disguise."

I set down my glass, looked him straight in the eye, and said, "I liked the first one better."

For a long moment he was silent as he regarded me, his eyes sweeping over me, then back up to meet my gaze. Then that lopsided smile appeared once more. Setting his own glass aside as well, he raised his eyebrows as he pulled me into his arms again, this time for a very long, sweet, warm, satisfying kiss.

…

"Tell me again," Artemus was saying, "everything you remember about Harper's Ferry, and about John Brown and his men."

"And woman," I reminded him. My injured arm was resting now in its new sling as the engaging Mr Gordon rummaged through a closet stuffed with an incredible variety of clothing. He pulled out a ratty old frock coat and a double-breasted waistcoat, shiny with use. To these he added a pair of ancient, well-worn trousers and a collarless shirt that had never seen better days. He shot me a twinkling glance, popped a jaunty old top hat onto his head, then held up the shirt and vest against his chest.

"What do you think?" he asked me.

What I thought at that moment was that it would be better if I didn't give him an honest answer, as my honest answer would be that he'd look wonderful in anything or in nothing - and it was that final word I didn't dare say.

"I think you look far too clean to match those clothes," I told him.

"True, true, but I won't by the time I finish with a little bit of makeup and a great deal of beard. I'll be scruffy enough, never fear." He gathered up the clothes and carried them to another room where he paused in the doorway. "You just wait till you see who comes back out of this room," he said, eyes twinkling again. He went in and shut the door, then called out to me, "But go ahead. I was wanting to hear again anything you remember about your ordeal."

I closed my eyes, letting images from my memory rise up before me. "I don't know what more to tell you," I confessed. "They all seemed like such perfectly dreadful people, and John Brown the worst of the lot. Carma followed him around like a puppy dog, sketching, always sketching. I can't imagine what she found so fascinating about him. To me, he was the worst kind of bully…"

The door opened again and Artemus, dressed in an undershirt and trousers - his good trousers still, his suspenders dangling round his hips - stepped out and frowned at me. "Sketching, you say?"

I nodded, trying very hard to keep my eyes on his face and away from the entrancing view of the man's chest under but a single layer of cloth.

"Hmm, I wonder…" He rubbed at his chin speculatively.

"Wonder what?"

"Oh, wonder how Jim's getting on with that girl, that's all." He gave another smile that nearly melted me again, then retreated into his room. "Did you ever happen to get a look at any of her sketches?"

"Only the ones she was working on any time she was around me, which is to say, only those by which she was immortalizing her god, John Brown."

"God?" His voice floated out to me, along with the sounds of water splashing.

"Well, she did seem to be quite taken with him."

"Taken. As in, in love with him?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that! More like…" I paused. Just what did I mean? "More like… he's the foundation of her world, the rock on which her entire life is built. If he falls…"

"And that's our goal, considering he is at the very least a kidnapper, along with being the leader of a large group of outlaws."

"Yes. If he falls, her world falls with him. There's no telling what she might do to prevent that."

Again the door opened. He now had his undershirt off and a towel hanging around his neck, and had obviously been shaving. "Barbara," he said, then yanked the towel off his neck and draped it somewhat haphazardly over his broad and - to my mind - beautiful chest. "I'm sorry," he went on. "No telling what she might do? Would you care to expand on that?"

"Oh, I… I don't know of anything specific. Or wait - maybe I do!"

"Yes?" he prompted, watching my face.

"I just… Oh, I'm not sure. But I heard her and her father arguing at one point. I didn't follow everything, as only about half of what they said was in English, but at one point he caught at her arm and pointed at something at her side. She whipped her arm away from him, then grabbed the thing he'd pointed at. It… it was…"

"Yes?" he said again.

"Oh dear. I wish I had remembered this earlier, before your Mr West went off to meet her!"

Artemus laid a hand on the side of my face. "Why, Barbara? What was it? What did you see?"

I'm sure my face must have been ghost-white at that moment. "She had some sort of loop sewn into her skirt, or - I don't know - it wasn't exactly a sheath…"

"A sheath?" he repeated. "Are… are you saying she had a knife?"

I nodded. "Yes. Right there ready to hand. And I'd say the blade was at least six or eight inches long."

"Oh boy," said Artemus. "That's not good. That's not good at all. Look. You go take a rest. You can nap if you want, or there are plenty of books to look at if you'd prefer. I need to set my disguise aside for a bit while I go check on Jim." He used the towel to wipe the rest of the shaving cream off his face.

"Do you think Mr West is in danger?" I asked, suddenly feeling a clutch at my heart.

He gave me the kind of smile people use when they want to give someone else a reassurance they themselves don't feel. "Barbara honey, in our line of work, Mr West is _always _in danger."

"Then what are you going to do?" I asked.

He patted my cheek again. "What I always do: go see if I need to pull his fat out of the fire."

* * *

_to be concluded on Sunday..._


	2. Chapter 2

It was fully dark and I was dozing on my sofa when the door opened. I awoke instantly; after all I'd been through lately, I was far more alert even asleep than I'd ever been before.

"Who's there?" I hissed into the darkness. "I… I have a gun!"

"You do?" came a blessedly familiar voice. "Where'd you get that?"

I gave a great sigh of relief. "Artemus!"

He lit a lamp and came to perch on my trunk as I sat up and smoothed out my skirt. "Is everything all right? Where's Mr West?"

"Oh, I never saw Jim, but I'm pretty sure I saw some of his handiwork. Little Miss Carma wasn't there either. All I found at her house were a few of her pets. Oh, and a couple of two-legged rattlers as well."

"Two-legged…" Either I was still too sleepy, or he wasn't making much sense. "What are you talking about?"

He chuckled and told me about his visit, about finding a broken chair and a strange empty box, and then the afghan wadded up on the floor with some unexpected livestock under it. Next the dresser with the sketch pad locked up in a drawer, and some of the curious drawings he found inside. In particular, he described to me the sketch of an unusual cannon, asking, "Did you ever see anything like that while you were there?"

"No. But remember, they brought me in blindfolded and didn't remove the cloth from my eyes until after they'd put me in that cell with the sewing machine. And from that time until Mr Brown had me dress in the fireproof suit for the test, I never set foot outside."

"And you didn't see anything like it during the test either?"

"I'm sorry, no. It was dark, and I was only focused on the fire and how to put it to good use for me to make my escape. I wasn't looking for any strange artillery."

"No, that's all right. Don't worry about it." He leaned forward and gave me a kiss on the forehead. "You go on back to sleep. I just came back to put on my disguise and get back to work."

"Don't you need to sleep?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Maybe later. I'm too keyed up to sleep right now. Jim's out there doing who knows what, and with any luck, we can get the goods on Mr John Brown and put him and his outlaws behind bars where they belong. But I need to be out there too." He took my hand in his and squeezed it. "Go ahead and sleep, Barbara, and when you get up in the morning, just continue to make yourself at home here for now. I'm hoping this won't take much longer and then we can relax and maybe even have a little celebration."

I slipped my hand out of his and instead used it to pull his head closer to mine. "This is all the celebration I want," I said, and I pressed my lips to his.

…

A full day passed and then some. I was pleased to find that I was regaining more and more use of my arm - which was good, as the engineer, while a dear fellow, wasn't much of a cook. With plenty of time on my hands, my mind turned to what I usually thought of: clothing. I couldn't exactly make sketches at the moment, but as I passed the time by looking through my trunk, I saw one of my dresses and realized that, with a few alterations, it would be just lovely on little Carma. The poor child simply had no fashion sense!

I took out the dress and my sewing supplies, and with the slightly better mobility of my arm now than yesterday, I patiently threaded a needle and began.

…

I wasn't surprised that it took me all the rest of the day as well as the next morning to alter that dress. It was disheartening how many times I had to rip out wayward stitches and redo them! But, I reasoned, I had plenty of time and nothing else to keep me busy.

Well, nothing else but worry. At least my uncertain stitching kept my mind occupied.

As it happened, the timing was impeccable. Just as I finished the last stitch, I heard a wagon pull up outside. I went to the door to welcome - oh my! A cavalry officer! "Artemus?"

He chuckled and gave me a snappy salute. "At your service, ma'am. I have to change and send this uniform back before we can leave. If you don't mind, would you help Jim make Carma comfortable?" He disappeared down the hall, and moments later Mr West entered with the young woman in tow. Her eyes were sullen as she strode through the car to fling herself down on the far sofa.

"Miss Bosley," said Mr West, giving me a nod as he removed his hat. His jacket and gun belt followed. He then turned to the girl. "Carma? Would you like something to drink?"

I didn't understand her answer, for it was in Spanish. Her attitude made the meaning of her words fairly clear, especially after Mr West sighed and said, "Considering what just happened to the unfortunate John Obadiah Brown, I wouldn't think that expression is very appropriate right now, Carma."

"Not appropriate!" she snapped. "On the contrary, it's singularly appropriate. What happened to him should happen to you too!"

"Carma!"

She curled herself up into a ball on the sofa and began to sob. I looked at Mr West, but he only turned away and began disassembling my boudoir. "Is your trunk packed, Miss Bosley?" he asked.

I was so caught up with Carma's woes that the question took me by surprise. "Packed?"

"We have a wagon waiting outside to take you into town," he replied, nodding toward a window. "Once you're packed, we can move your trunk to the wagon."

"Oh!" That quickly! The promised celebration popped like a soap bubble. As Mr West took down my privacy screen and put it away, I moved to my sofa - oh, it wasn't going to be mine for much longer, was it? - and gathered all my things except the dress I'd been working on.

Shortly I was done. "All right, Mr West," I said.

He went to the swinging door that led to the rest of the varnish car. "Artie? We're ready."

"So am I," he replied, coming down the corridor and into the parlor. He was now in a green smoking jacket with a set of four frog closures adorning its front, a hint of a ruffled shirt peeking out just under the big bow tie at his throat. "Here's the uniform," he said, a bundle of neatly folded clothes in his arms.

"Let's get the trunk out to the wagon," said Mr West.

"All right. Would you mind taking care of these for me for a moment?" Artemus asked me, adding, "Oh, and, ah…" He leaned close and whispered into my ear, "Don't let little Carma out of your sight." He passed me the bundle, then helped take my trunk out.

I laid the stack of clothes on my sofa, then crossed to Carma's. Taking out my lace hanky, I pressed it into her hand and slipped my good arm around her. "Are you going to be all right?"

She flinched back from my touch and shook her head. "Nothing's ever going to be all right again! Never ever ever."

The men returned. Artemus took up the bundle of the uniform to carry it out as well, and I followed him outside onto the rear platform of the train and shut the door behind us. "What happened?" I asked.

"Ah… Let me, uh…" He gestured at the clothes and the driver, who was down there pointedly consulting his pocket watch. I nodded and waited till Artemus had deposited the uniform in the wagon bed.

As soon as he was ascending the steps once more, I asked my question again. "What happened?"

He sighed and leaned on the railing for a long moment, staring out at the horizon, then reached over and took my left hand in his. "You remember the cannon I described to you?" he said.

"Yes."

"Jim saw it in action. Instead of firing the usual ammunition - cannonballs, grapeshot, mortars - this cannon fired, well, great balls of fire."

I frowned, trying hard to imagine it, only to realize suddenly that I didn't have to imagine. "But… but that must be how they attacked the stagecoach then!"

He nodded. "Exactly. And that's why Mr Brown wanted you to make the fireproof suits, to lend him and Carma's father an extra measure of security while they worked with the, ah, fire cannon."

"Oh," I said.

He turned to look at me. "Oh?" he quoted.

Now it was my turn to look away toward the horizon. "I… well, I made three suits for Mr Brown. I… didn't bother at first to make them as protective as he desired. Why should I care if my kidnapper was pleased with my work? But when he said _I _would have to wear a suit for its trial by fire, I… well…"

He leaned into my peripheral vision. "You only fixed the suit you yourself would wear."

I nodded. "Yes, the smallest suit. I was taking a chance, I know, since he might well have made me put on one of the larger suits, whether it would fit me or not. But that suit was the only one that was truly protective."

He gave a great sigh. "I know."

"You _know?" _I stared at him, horror growing within me. "Artemus, tell me what happened!"

He gazed out at the horizon again as he described to me how Jim had managed to knock out Carma's father and take his suit from him. Wearing it, he had fooled Mr Brown in the other suit into thinking all was well. Then, as Brown was getting the cannon ready to fire at the oncoming cavalry…

"But you were in a cavalry uniform," I interrupted.

"Yes. I had escaped from Brown's fort to fetch the army. It turns out Brown was counting on me to do just that."

I clutched at his hand. "You could have been killed!"

"Well, for us, that's all in a day's work." He smiled down at me, then slipped his arm around me and dropped a kiss on my head. "At any rate," he went on, "John Brown was wearing his protective suit, albeit with the mask off, when Jim took up a keg of kerosene and threw it at the cannon."

I shook my head. "And?"

"And the way the cannon worked, it had a small flame on it, something like a pilot light. When the keg broke open, the flame ignited the fumes from the kerosene and, ah… John Brown was, uh… standing mighty close to the cannon…" His arm around my waist pulled me slightly closer, comfortingly. "I'm sure it was all over quickly," he finished.

"So he…" I couldn't bring myself to finish the statement.

"I'm sorry. Yes. He… died."

"That's what Carma and Mr West were talking about then," I said, and repeated that brief conversation to him, including my best endeavor at reproducing Carma's sentence in Spanish.

"Oh," said Artemus.

"She… she told him to go to Hell, didn't she?"

Slowly he nodded. "She did indeed."

We stood together for a long moment, his arm round my waist, my head leaning against his shoulder. Tears were slipping down my cheeks and I reached for my hanky, only to remember too late that I'd given it to Carma.

"Here." Artemus handed me his handkerchief and I took care of my leaking eyes.

"I feel just awful," I said when at last I was reasonably sure I could trust my voice again.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because… I already told you. Because I only fixed the suit I wore. If I had been more careful with Mr Brown's suit, perhaps he wouldn't have died."

"You can't know that. Remember, he wasn't wearing his mask. Even if the rest of the suit had been perfect, the fire would have gotten to…" His voice trailed off. "Never mind. I don't want that image in my mind, much less in yours."

Silence fell between us again. "Artemus?" I said at last.

"Yes, Barbara?"

"What's going to become of Carma?"

He sighed. "Well, the sheriff had his jail full with all the rest of Brown's men and didn't have anywhere to put her. Jim and I brought her back here intending to lock her up in our rolling cell in the baggage car and take her away to face the music. Why?"

"Well… would you do something for me?"

He looked at me and a flirtatious twinkle crept into his eyes. "Why, that all depends, sugar. Just what did you have in mind?"

Mm. If he wanted to be flirtatious, I could match him on that. I slipped my good hand into his hair and pulled him into a lingering kiss, then kissed his ear as well and whispered, "Let Carma go."

"Let…! Let her go!" He pushed me back and gaped at me. "Are you kidding? Why?"

I laid my hand on his chest and fiddled with his topmost frog. "Because it's my fault, you see. If I'd made his suit right…"

"We already went over this, Barbara…"

"Still!" I looked up at him, and I knew I was crying again, and I knew I was using one of the oldest feminine tricks in the book on him - except that I really was crying - but I didn't care. My inaction had led to the death of a man Carma thought the world of. A crazy man, yes. A dangerous evil man, yes. But it wasn't Mr Brown I was thinking of, it was Carma. Young, so young. And so devastated. "Please," I whispered. "For me. To ease my conscience."

"Barbara…" he said. Then he fell silent.

And then… then he nodded. "All right. Well, it's all up to Jim of course, but I'll suggest it."

"Oh, I love you!" I threw my arm around his neck and kissed him. "After all," I added once he let me catch my breath again, "she was only making sketches. It's not like she really did anything bad herself."

"Ah," said Artemus. But what he meant by that, he never told me. He only took my hand and led me back into the car.

We found Jim standing at one side of the parlor and Carma at the other. I went to the girl's side and dear Mr Gordon to his partner's side. And while I offered her the dress I'd altered for her, Artemus offered her her life back.

…

The goodbyes came so quickly after that. I spoke to Mr West, then turned to that dear man in the green smoking jacket and said, very playfully, "Mr Gordon."

He bowed to me. "May I see you off the train?"

I smiled. "I was hoping you'd ask!"

He took my hand. I moved on ahead of him. I didn't have to see his face to know what kind of look he shot his partner.

Well, I didn't care either. Minutes were precious now, and I wanted to use all of them I had left to express my gratitude to dear Artemus.

I was still thanking him when the door opened again for Carma and Mr West to come out.

Oh! The dress! I'd forgotten all about it. Artemus went back and brought it out for me. Carma's face when she saw it and realized it was for her was priceless - though not, of course, as priceless as her look a few minutes earlier when she'd found out she was free to go.

Artemus handed me up onto the wagon to sit by the driver, then Mr West helped Carma up to sit by my side. The driver shook out the reins and we started back to town. I turned to wave, as did the girl, until we saw the men get back on the train. The lonely hoot of the whistle sounded and we saw the smoke pour out as the train pulled away.

Carma clutched the dress to her bosom as the wagon carried us steadily back to town. "It's… it's a pity about my sketch books," she said at last.

And at that moment I knew what else I could do for Carma. I reached over with my left hand and patted hers. "Don't worry about that, dear," I said. "I'll buy you some new sketch books, as many as you want."

She looked at me, staring up with her intense, unblinking eyes. "You will?"

"Absolutely," I promised. "And what's more: Have you ever thought about using your artistic abilities…" I smiled at her. "…to get a job making sketches for a poor little injured dressmaker whose arm is still on the mend?"

**FIN**


End file.
